


Remember What We Had in the Beginning

by marco_makes_me_cry



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Mentions of Eremin, Mentions of Petrahan, Mentions of homophobia, laundrette au, reunited
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-01-25 11:06:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1646378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marco_makes_me_cry/pseuds/marco_makes_me_cry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been four years since Jean was forced to cut off all ties with Marco, his best friend and boyfriend. Since then, he's been forced into 'gay cure' camps, religious services and home schooling.</p>
<p>After moving away from home and living on his own for two years, Jean bumps into Marco again, away from the supervision of his strict parents in, of all places, a laundrette.</p>
<p>Is Jean capable of righting the wrongs that happened back in high school, or will his embarrassment and avoidance win out right and preventing him of ever fixing things with Marco?</p>
<p>'And I remember when I met him.<br/>It was so clear that he was the only one for me.<br/>We both knew right away.<br/>And as the years went on things got more difficult,<br/>We were faced with more challenges.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One choice, and one choice only; visit the laundrette on a Marco Day

The sky outside was white. Not blue, or grey, or full of purple storm clouds; it was white. The sun was hidden behind a wall of clouds, leaving the sky colourless and, as far as Jean was concerned, miserable looking. The lack of colour in the sky was almost ominous to him as he stared out of the window.

Turning his attention back to the cup of coffee in his hand, and swirled the remaining brown liquid in the bottom of the cup. The laundry basket by his door caught his attention; the overflowing mess of dirty clothes had begun to pile up on the floor. For the past week or so, Jean had sat on his bed in nothing but a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, marathoning tv shows on Netflix and eating endless bowls of cereal. For a few days, he had been able to ignore the looming date of his upcoming job interview, choosing to believe instead that if he stared hard enough at the basket (and pile) of dirty clothes, they would eventually wash themselves. When he woke up at 2pm for the fifth day in a row however, Jean decided it was finally time to get his act together.

Downing the remaining few drops of coffee, he moved through to the kitchen, his bare feet padding across the cold floor tiles, placed the empty mug in the sink, and returned to his room to find some clean - or rather, the least dirty - clothes to wear. After salvaging a semi-clean pair of jeans and socks, Jean emptied the rest of his laundry into a large bag. Catching sight of several bottles on his chest of drawers, he grabbed one and sprayed himself with an excessive amount of Lynx, just as a precaution. He pulled a hoodie, jacket and shoes on, and was about to leave when he caught sight of his hair in the mirror. Leaving the bag by the front door, he ran back through the apartment, and retrieved a grey beanie from underneath his bed. After pulling it on, Jean grabbed the bag of washing and begrudgingly left the apartment to walk down the street to the local laundrette. Other than his undeniable laziness and procrastination habits, there was one reason, one very important reason why Jean had left his washing to the last possible minute to get it done. _Marco_. This freckled boy was the bane of Jean's existence.

* * *

 

 

Up until their junior year of high school, Jean and Marco had been best friends. They did everything together; they walked to school together, played sports together, had sleepovers pretty much every other week. During one sleepover, after drinking far too much alcohol, Marco had confessed his feelings for Jean. It took him a long time, but eventually, Jean admitted that he reciprocated those feelings, and they started a relationship. Over the next few months, the two spent even more time together (if that was even possible), and life was perfect. Until one day, Jean's father caught them together in Jean's bed. Marco was immediately sent home, and a lot of threats were made. Unless Jean cut off all ties with Marco, he would be on the streets faster than could pack his things. Over the next year, Jean was removed from his school, forced to attend Church at least once a week, and was sent away on camps and programmes; anything his parents could find to "make the gay go away". And all this happened without a single word to Marco. The text messages and calls that had been so desperate during the first few weeks of this trauma slowed down, until they ceased completely. Marco graduated, while Jean was educated at home by a private tutor; one who was "specifically female, in case Jean gets any ideas".

Two years after the incident, Jean moved out, buying a little appartment on the other side of the city, and for two years, he lived happily in peace, undisturbed by his parents, and with every thought of Marco repressed deep into his brain. This was a clever trick he was taught in one of the "camps" he was forced to attend by his parents, and pretty much the only technique that had actually ever worked. Of course, there's no way to make someone "not gay anymore", but at least Jean could live somewhat in peace if he was able to block every thought of Marco from his mind. And it truly was working, he'd gotten a job working as a secretary in an office, and everything was going smoothly. Until his boss made a pass at him, and Jean instantly resigned. But at least there was still no sign of Marco in Jean's life.

Until one day, a familiar freckled face appeared in uniform at his local laundrette. His shift started halfway through Jean's machine's wash cycle, and since he couldn't just high tail it out of there to avoid him, Jean hid behind a magazine in the corner for the next hour. After the first awkward encounter, Jean had done everything in his power to avoid Marco, going to such lengths as memorising his work schedule, and only visiting the laundrette on days he knew Marco would not be working.

But due to weeks of procrastination, Jean had been left with one choice, and one choice only; to visit the laundrette on a Marco day. He considered going to a different laundrette this time, but without a car or bike, and a heavy bag or washing, his laziness won outright.

_Perhaps he called in sick..._ Jean thought to himself, and proceeded to come up with a whole range of scenarios in which he could avoid coming into contact with Marco again.

As Jean rounded the corner, the laundrette came into view. The whole front of the place was glass windows; the ledges serving as places to sit. Jean could see the rows of washing machines and tumble dryers extending to the back of the shop, where there was a row of sinks for hand wash items. Along the right hand wall, a long desk sat, the top decorated with bottles of different washing detergents, a pot of change, and a small computer and monitor. Jean caught the eye of the person sat behind the desk, and, with a sigh of relief, noticed that it wasn't Marco. That being the only information Jean needed, he crossed the road and pushed open the door. Instantly the smell of washing detergent hit him, polluting the air with fifty different floral smells at once. The whir of washing machines was more comforting than anything else, and Jean noticed that, for the number of machines in a cycle, there was barely any people in the place.

"Hey Jean!" the brunette girl behind the desk waved to him.

"Hi Sasha, not eating on the job this time, I see..."

"That was one time, okay! I don't see why that's the one thing people always remember about me!" He cracked her a smirk, and began to wander down the rows of machines, looking for a free one away from most of the others. He had trouble remembering which machine was his sometimes. He found one within sight of the seats by Sasha's desk, and began loading it with his first load of washing.

"You're supposed to seperate them..." Sasha called from the desk, watching him with a strange sense of enjoyment.

"I am seperating them! See, I'm doing the whites first," he held up the piece of clothing in his hand to show her, realising too late that it was a pair of boxers. She cackled at him as he his face went red, and he turned to continue loading the washing.

Once her laughter subsided, she called to him again. "You put a red sock in."

"What?" He turned to face her again.

"I said, you put a red sock in. It'll turn all your washing pink," she pointed into the drum of the machine.

"Where?" Jean replied, looking back at the growing pile of white laundry in the machine.

"It's probably buried by now, you put in it when I said about seperating them... You'll have to unload it all to find it, or all your clothes will come out pink." With a heavy sigh, Jean grabbed an armful of washing out of the machine and dumped it on the floor. "No no no!" Sasha cried, and he spun around to look at her. "You have to go through it one by one. You'll never find it like that!" That earned her a glare, before Jean turned back to the machine to look through the washing.

Five minutes later, he turned back to her. "I can't find it anywhere! Are you sure you saw it go in? I don't wanna end up with a pink shirt."

"Oops!" Sasha replied, leaning back to put her feet up on the desk. "I guess I must've just imagined it then. Sorry Jean, I didn't mean to make you take it all out on purpose," She flashed him an innocent smile, then winked at him.

"You're fucking kidding me..." muttering to himself, Jean angrily shoved the pile of whites into the machine, slammed the door shut, yanked open the draw to pour the detergent in from his bag and slammed that shut too.

"If you break it, you have to pay for it," Sasha said, watching him angrily push the buttons on the front of the machine.

He stomped over to the seating area, and sat down heavily in the seat furthest away from Sasha at her desk, pulling off his jacket and hat. "I'm sorry Jean," she said, pouting at him, "but c'mon, it was funny!"

Instead of responding, he picked up a magazine from the table next to him and held it in front of his face, making it clear that he didn't feel like talking to her. Sasha felt silent, and the room was filled once again with just the whir of the machines. Two minutes passed before Jean realised that the magazine was the most boring thing he'd ever read, so he discarded it and switched to playing games on his phone instead. A few minutes after that, Sasha began typing on the computer in front of her. Twenty minutes in, she looked up at the clock on the wall, then out the window and broke the silence.

"You know, Jean, I'm surprised you came in today."

"Oh yeah?" he said without looking up from his phone. "Why's that?" Before Sasha could reply, the bell on the door rang as it opened, and someone else entered the shop.

"Afternoon, Sasha!" This time Jean did look up from his phone.

"Hey Marco!" 

Jean watched as the freckled boy crossed the room and pulled off his jacket to reveal the uniform shirt underneath, instantly wishing for the ground to swallow him up forever.


	2. Endure & Survive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean is left feeling horribly awkward after his first encounter with Marco in months. Sasha wants to help him, whether it be to come up with a plan to reconcile or just help him avoid Marco at any and all costs. But which will it be? Only Jean can decide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I named this chapter after a quote from the Last of Us. It's from a comic that Ellie is reading called 'Savage Starlight', and she quotes it several times throughout the game. 
> 
> I thought it was appropriate since Jean kinda has to endure and survive the awkwardness between him and Marco, and also because I'm obsessed with that game, so I stuck it on one of Jean's t-shirts.

Marco walked behind the counter where Sasha was still sat and disappeared into the back room. Jean could feel Sasha’s eyes on him, judging what he was going to do next. Instead of making eye contact with her, he stared intently at the washing machine containing his clothes. The timer was ticking down how long until the load was done, and even from where Jean was sat, he could see the blinking red numbers, illuminating the remaining 30 minutes until the clothes were done. Footsteps announced Marco’s imminent return to the shop floor.

“So how was your weekend?” Jean’s head snapped up so fast he felt his neck click.

“I ended up sitting in the A&E at 3am on Saturday morning,” Sasha replied nonchalantly. Heat rushed to Jean’s face. _Why would Marco’ve been talking to you? Idiot._

“Connie?”

“Yeah, he got really drunk and thought he’d be able to do a backflip off the top of Reiner’s shed.”

“Ouch!” A frown crossed Marco’s face; the wholehearted, concernful look was not something Jean had seen for a long time, but the familiarity of it made his heart contract. “Is he okay?”

“Well…” Sasha giggled. “He thought he’d dislocated his shoulder, and all the way there in Armin’s car he was going ‘that’s it Sasha, my football career is over!’ and then he started crying.”

Jean snorted. Sasha turned and winked at him, still laughing, but Marco didn’t move.

“But Connie doesn’t even play football?”

“I know!” she hooted, tears brimming at her eyes. “Anyway,” she said, wiping the tears away; her laughter subsiding slightly, “he hadn’t actually dislocated anything, so his ‘football career’," she did mock air quotations with her fingers, "is safe for now. He just bruised the bone, so the doctor told him to lay off the stunts for a while, especially when drunk.”

Jean zoned out after that, letting their conversation become background noise. The phone that had been ignored for the last five minutes came back to life again as the screen flashed up with a text message.

 **From _The Blonde:_** Hey, Jean! Do you still need a lift to your interview tomorrow?

 **To _The Blonde:_** yeah, if you still can?

 **From _The Blonde:_** Sure thing! I’ll have Eren with me though, which might change your mind…

 **To _The Blonde:_** uuuuuggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

 **To _The Blonde:_** yeah i’ll still take the lift… just tell him not to be a prick

 **From _The Blonde:_** You know I can’t control him Jean, but I’ll try. See you tomorrow!

He sighed to himself and looked at the now half empty bag of washing at his feet. A grey t-shirt sat on the top, the words ‘endure and survive’ splattered across the front. The shop suddenly felt far too quiet; the light on the front of the washing machine now flashed at 00:00. Sasha had her feet back on the counter, and Marco was nowhere to be seen. Jean grabbed the bag at his feet and walked slowly towards the no longer whirring machine; one eye on the door that let to the back room.

“He won’t be back out for a while…” Sasha’s voice broke the silence, making Jean start. She glanced up at the clock as Jean emptied the machine and transferred the wet clothes to a nearby tumble dryer. “D’you wanna go grab a coffee or something? It’s better than just sitting in here…”

Jean was about to decline, before he glanced at the door to the back room again. Instead he asked, “Don’t you have a job to do though?”

“Nah, my shift ended…” she glanced at the clock again, “twenty-three seconds ago.”

"Sure then, just let me finish this..." he shoved the wet clothes in and shut the door, twisting the dial on the front before pressing the start button. Back at the other machine, he shoveled armfuls of dark washing into the drum, forcing as much in as possible before pouring the detergent in and shutting this door too. Setting the machine to a dark, standard wash, he pressed start and turned back to Sasha, who already had her jacket and bag, and was standing the other side of the counter. "Do you wanna know what the worst part about your stupid little prank with the sock was?"

"Please do tell..." she responded, a grin lighting up her face.

"I don't even own any red socks."

The look that crossed her face could only be described as a look of pure, unadulterated achievement. Grabbing his jacket and pulled it on over his hoodie, Jean pulled the beanie quickly back onto his head.

"Did that thought not occur to you at any point while you were unloading and searching through your clothes?" He shook his head and Sasha giggled. "You really can be an idiot sometimes Jean," she said as she followed him out of the door. "I've told Marco that you've left your stuff here, by the way."

"Oh, uh thanks..." Jean rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

He let Sasha take the lead down the highstreet, following her as the passed numerous coffee shops, cafés and establishments. 

"Are we gonna stop any time soon?" he asked, gesturing at the Starbucks on the other side of the road.

"There? No way, too expensive! And their cake isn't that good."  _Trust Sasha to care more about the cake than the actual coffee,_ he thought, but shrugged nonetheless, and kept following her.

"Aha!" she eventually exclaimed, just as Jean was considering turning back to the laundrette. "Here we are," she proudly pointed to the café she had stopped in front of.

The door was made entirely of glass, with a handmade sign hanging that said 'Open' in cursive lettering. Through the window, Jean could see that the windowsill doubled as a bench, decorated with cushions and had three small coffee tables placed in front. Sasha pushed open the door, and a gentle tinkling sound rang through the shop. Before Jean was even inside, he could smell the delicious sent of ground coffee beans and wood. Two or three coffee machines whirred in the back of the shop, but they did not overpower the sound of soft music playing over the speakers. Fairylights twisted through the rafters near the ceiling to gently illuminated the room. The walls were painted a light turquoise, and were decorated with pictures, signs and menu boards. Tables and chairs cluttered the floor, and almost half of them were occupied. At the back of the shop, a long counter seperated the coffee machines and workers from the rest of the room. Plates covered in cakes, cookies and biscuits decorated the top, and an antique till sat off to the left hand side. The entire back wall was painted black, and served as a chalk board, covered with lists of drinks and prices, and little illustrations. A small ginger woman was stood behind the counter, wearing a white apron with frilled edges, rearranging a display of cakes. She looked up when the bell on the door rang, and smiled when she caught Sasha's eye.

"Hi Petra," Sasha smiled as they reached the back of the shop. "How are you?"

"Good, although Hanji wasn't feeling too good this morning, so I had to cover her on my day off." Jean noted that she had a very gentle voice, which matched her small and gentle appearance.

"Awh, what's wrong with her?"

"Nothing, I suspect. She looked fine to me when we woke up this morning, I think she's just being lazy again. What about you, no Connie today?" Petra eyes flicked to Jean quickly, and she offered him a small smile.

"Nah, I just got off work. I had to take him to A&E this weekend though."

"Really?" her eyebrows knitted together in concern, much like Marco's had done earlier.

"Yeah, it was nothing serious though, he was just being and idiot," Sasha turned back to Jean. "D'you wanna go grab a table while I order?"

"Uh, sure. I'll get a..." he quickly scanned the chalk menu behind Petra. "Just cappuccino, please." Petra smiled and nodded, and Jean turned and scanned the room.

Settling for the cushioned window seat, he left Sasha and made his way carefully between tables. Five minutes later, Sasha joined him, carrying a tray holding two cups of coffee, and the largest slice of cake Jean had ever seen. She grinned when she saw him looking at it and placed the tray on the table.

"On the house!" she said happily, and Jean glanced over at Petra, who was still behind the counter, moving cakes around a plate. "My mum knows Hanji, who's Petra's wife, and they own the place together," she explained, picking up the slice of cake with her fingers instead of using a fork, and took a huge bite, and because she's Sasha and that is never enough, she made a loud noise of approval to let Jean know how good it was. Jean quietly drank his coffee, looking out of the window down the street. It took her several minutes to finish off the slice of cake, and another five or so deciding out loud whether she should get a second slice. Ten minutes later, two plates sat stacked on the tray, and Jean was drinking his second cup of coffee.

"So, why today?"

"What do you mean?"

Sasha put down her cup and turned to face him properly on the seat. "You've gone completely out of your way to avoid Marco as much as physically possible, including asking me to get you a copy of his work schedule, which, by the way, was totally creepy, Jean!"

"You know why, Sasha, we've talked about it before."

"Sure, I know why you're avoiding him, but I wanna know why you've given up on that and decided to come in today, when you knew he'd be working... Have you forgiven him?"

"Have  _I_ forgiven  _him_? For what?"

"Okay, I'll rephrase that: have you forgiven yourself?" He gave an annoyed huff, and was about to speak, but Sasha cut him off. "No, I'm serious Jean! I know how guilty you feel about cutting him off, so much so that you couldn't even bring yourself to talk to him again. Are you finally gonna let that go?"

"Actaully it's because I have a job interview tomorrow, and I don't have any clean clothes to wear, and I let it too late to come in on a day where- you know..."

"So you haven't forgiven yourself yet?"

"What? I don't feel guilty, Sasha."

"Don't bullshit me, Jean," her face took on a serious look that Sasha rarely got, but when she did, you knew it was serious. "Why else would you go completely out of your way to avoid him? Not to mention the fact that you blush like a school girl whenever you see him! I know you're not over it yet, or over him yet. The question now is: what are you going to do about it?"

Jean turned away from her to stare out of the window again, eyebrows knit together in thought. And as much as he tried to block Marco from his mind, he found his eyes travelling up the highstreet in search of the little laundrette and the freckled boy inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a huge maths exam tomorrow that I haven't revised for yet... Oh well!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm completely finished with school after this Friday, so updates should be coming much quicker
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated, and you can message me at my tumblr (prettylittleheichou.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> So I've finally been swept up by the world of jeanmarco fanfiction, and I got terribly bored on holiday, so I drafted a new fic idea; thus the creation of this
> 
> I am aware that the whole laundrette au thing might be a bit lame, but this is just the beginning...
> 
> I'm also thinking of writing a prequel to this featuring the events from a few years ago... like, how does that sound?
> 
> Also, this fic should hopefully be updated fairly regularly, since I only have a couple of weeks of exams left, and then a two and a half month long break...


End file.
